Let's see Who Actually Pays Attention to Titles
by And Back Again
Summary: Tibban is an odd, eccentric girl living in Nottingham with her parents. When she hears her mother complaining about their money problem, she decides to stop waiting around for something to happen, and takes off to join Robin Hood's gang. Yea, an OC-insert
1. Chapter 1

M'kay

**M'kay. My first published fanfic (if you don't count a previous, disastrous failure that was deleted nearly as soon as it was posted), and so I would request a little mercy, if at all possible. Actually, scratch that. I would request criticism. Just let me know what you think, what I should do to improve. Please? **

**Disclaimer: You know the drill. Not mine, no lawsuit.**

* * *

There was a clatter and a clash. The eighteen-year-old girl stared in apprehension at the beginnings of bread dough, the billows of flower, now spread across the threshed floor of her parents' home. She bit the inside of her lip, her eyes widening as she heard the door slam on the other side of the thin wooden slats that hid the kitchen area from view of the only other room, the living area and eating quarters. She rushed forward, scooping the wet flour and egg mixture back into the wooden bowl. Voices filtered clearly through to her as she, quietly as she could, stirred up the straw floor to hide the spilled flower.

Her mother's rich, gutteral voice nearly buried the words she spoke: "I don't know, Earnest. You'd think that girl didna want to be married, to have 'er own house."

Her father, a quiet man of few words, merely grunted some sort of assent.

Her mother was unperturbed, used to this behavior after nearly thirty years of marriage. "I don't think she understands. It's not that we dun want 'er 'ere, but we canna really afford ta house a grown daughter. None of her sisters made such a fuss."

Tibban, still on her knees in the kitchen, froze mid-motion. She slowly leaned back, sitting on her heels, and listened intently to the conversation.

Her father grunted. Her mother continued. "Poor Tibban. Poor us! The sheriff's men came yesterday, didya know? I couldn' hardly find the coin to give them for the ruddy taxes. We're getting' old, Earnest. We need the money from that girl's bride price, or at least the money that goes into feedin' her. Too bad we raised such a stubborn 'un, eh?" her mother gave a sad chuckle as her words petered out.

There was a shuffling as her mother set down whatever she had come in with, and settled on the wooden bench by the fire. Tibban sucked her bottom lip, her eyes staring vacantly out the window through which the afternoon sun shone. She had never imagined… Through all her parents' urges for marriage she had thought it was because she was annoying, or they were embarrassed to have a daughter so old and unmarried, or they just wanted her out of the house. She had never imagined that _money _had been the motivation. Yes, they certainly weren't rich, but they had always gotten by. Certain things, details from the past year, floated through her consciousness, carrying new significance. Her parents were getting old. Nearly a year ago, her mother, a baker, had sold her spare bake oven. She had said that she didn't need it; that she didn't make enough dough anymore to justify it. She didn't make as much dough because she was getting older, slower. The less bread meant less income, and the oven had probably been sold to help compensate. And there was the fact that her father had given up his nightly mug of wine. He had claimed it was for his health, but wine prices had been rising recently…

Tibban clutched her head in her hands. _Stupid, oblivious, ignorant little girl…_ she thought to herself. With a new resolution, and a thought boiling behind her eyes, she finished the bread, glancing guiltily at the traces of spilled flower on the floor.

()()

-(o.o)-

(bunny. 8D)

By the time Tibban and her family had finished their dinner, the girl was resolute in her plan. Her mother had complained of having to feed and house her. So she would no longer have too.

With a firm set to her lips, she stepped over the door, gazing with a nagging bitterness up at the loft where she and her parents usually slept. Her ears plucked up the sound of her father's raucous snores, but she hardened her heart against the familial sound. With her pack over her shoulder, she crossed the threshold.

In her pack were only the bare necessities; her one spare change of clothes, her winter cloak, a hairbrush, the bow and quiver of arrows that all her brothers had outgrown, an apple. She had wished to leave a note, but neither she nor her parents knew how to read or write. She had imagined what she would have written, though: '_Have no fear. You need no longer house me. Be sure to keep the Taxman at bay.' _Recently, she had been neglecting personal hygiene: her brown hair was mussed and frizzy where it escaped its short braid, her green eyes vivid in a grimy face. Only her hands were clean, a precaution her mother insisted upon while baking. This was part of her plan to keep potential husbands at bay. She knew that if anyone provided a half-decent bride price, her parents would throw her at the unlucky fellow in their desperation. Thus she had embarked to make herself as unappealing as possible, starting with her appearance. Now that she was gone from the threat of possible suitors, she intended to relish the feeling of being clean once again. Or, relatively so.

It wasn't that she intended to be troublesome by not marrying, though. It's just that she couldn't imagine life being so – _settled._ She couldn't bear to be shackled to someone who bored her, which, unfortunately, comprised nearly three quarters of the eligible men of Nottingham village. But she need no longer worry about that. Suitors be damned, because now she was _free_.

She slipped out the gate a few moments before it was to be closed for the night. She received an odd look from one of the guards, being a girl of marriageable age leaving the village alone for the night, but he didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. She didn't know what she would have replied.

She made it into the forest before the sky went completely dark, and hoisted herself into a tree for the night. She could complete her plan tomorrow. The only part left was to locate Robin Hood's Gang, as well as gain their acceptance. Now _that _was a dashing life…

()()

-(.)-

The next mourning, Tibban could be found wandering aimlessly through the woods, munching the apple noisily. The infamous outlaws were proving more illusive than originally anticipated. By around midday, she had grown thirsty and was trying to retrace her steps to a stream she had passed some hours ago, when at last she encountered human life forms. In a most unconventional way.

She thought she could hear the stream when a man dropped out of the tree in front of her, grinning like an idiot. "Why, 'lo there, sweetheart!" he said, all too cheerily, and loudly. Tibban stumbled back, cursing the heavy skirt that made her clumsy. She reached for an arrow from her quiver while, at the same time, trying to string her bow with one hand. It didn't work so well. The man did, however, pay attention to the sharp-tipped arrow she was brandishing in his direction, and held up his hands to prove himself not a threat. "Whoa, hold it there, girl," he said, following the arrow with his eyes.

Tibban scowled, peeved at having been taken unawares. She didn't say a word, but took in the man's appearance. He was shorter than her, as most folk were, but not by much. He had blondish hair and a matching mustache, and alert blue eyes.

After a moment, the man said, "You lost or somethin'?"

Tibban straightened herself before replying. "Intentionally so, thank you. Now what do you want?" She flicked the arrow as she asked, as if reminding him to keep back. He ignored her question and focused on her answer.

"Wait, intentionally lost? What for?"

"I'm– I'm looking for someone." She fought to remain confidant in tone for her reply. She was becoming more an more nervous.

The stranger seemed to find her reply funny. "And who might you be lookin' for who you need to be lost to find?"

She bit her lip, considering. She wasn't having much luck with her current 'wander blindly' strategy, and it couldn't really hurt to tell him, could it? "I'm… I'm looking for Robin Hood."

The man looked like he didn't know whether to find this highly amusing or deeply worrying. "Well, seems like you got lucky." He turned his head behind him and called to no one in particular, "Oye, Robin!"

Tibban stood nervously, unsure what to expect. After a moment, there was a rustling in the bushes to the stranger's right, and from the brush emerged a confidant, brown haired man with a longbow over his shoulder and a quiver on his back. Within a few moments, four more arrived; a fuzzy-looking behemoth, a tall, dark-haired and pale youth, a shorter, mousy-looking man, and a Saracen ma– no, _woman._ Tibban tried to swallow the nervousness in her throat, but only swallowed precious water instead.

"Now, what'd you find here, Allan?" asked the first man as he strode up.

The stranger, newly named Allan, shrugged. "Dunno. Said she was intentionally lost, lookin' for you."

The man looked her up and down, taking in her appearance. "Now, what's your name?" he asked.

Tibban ignored his question. "Are you Robin Hood?" she blurted, before she could stop herself. She clamped her traitorous jaw shut.

The man smiled. "Aye, that I am. Now, what's your name?"

"Tibban, sir. I mean, Robin Hood…" she trailed off, her gaze lowering as her embarrassment mounted, until she was staring at her toes. She was relieved to say she wasn't blushing—she hadn't blushed in years—but that helped little with her blundering tongue.

He gave a fresh smile. "So what can I do for you, Tibban?" he asked.

She forced her gaze to his face as she spoke. "I want to join your gang."

There were some murmurs from the four hanging back. Allan whistled, Robin Hood merely raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

Before she could stop herself, Tibban had embarked upon her tale. "Because my parents can't really afford to house me if they want to pay the taxes, and I refuse to marry because that would be so _boring,_ and your life sounds so adventurous, and I've always supported your cause, and plus one of my brothers was arrested a couple years ago because he hunted in the royal forest, which is preposterous because we only wanted some meat because the market prices were so high…" she finally stopped babbling and winced. "Sorry," she muttered, once again staring at her toes. She returned her gaze to his face to add one more thing: "and I'm not useless. I can shoot a bow, and I can fight with a knife decently enough…" she trailed up, her hope-filled gaze boring into his face, searching for some sign that she was, or at least might be, in.

He returned her stare for a gut-wrenching moment. During the silence, a small part of her mind found amusement in the fact that he had to look _up _into her face. Finally, he gave a single nod and turned quickly to go. Tibban stared in shock after him, until the other five pressed around her to greet her or introduce themselves. And so Allan became Allan-A-Dale, Behemoth became Little John (he received an odd look from Tibban at that), Mousey became Much, Tall & Pale became Will Scarlet, and Short Woman became Djaq. And Tibban, became part of the gang.

**-sigh- Done. I know the acceptance is rather abrupt, but I wasn't sure how they **_**would **_**do it. She did just spill her guts to him, and she's really not much of a threat. But if anyone has a suggestion that doesn't involve days of probation, I would gladly edit the chapter and give credit to the suggestor. **

**I know it gets annoying, but reviews are much appreciated. **

**So long, and thanks for all the fish. ;D**

**ABA**


	2. Chapter 2

Tibban trailed cautiously after the gang

Tibban trailed cautiously after the gang. Her gaze flickered to each head bobbing ahead of her. This focus caused her to trip often. It just didn't make sense, that she would be accepted so easily. Or perhaps she was just succumbing to paranoia. She looked down for the briefest second, and noticed that, unconsciously, her hands were wringing frantically. She quickly dropped them to her side.

In this moment of distraction, she managed to send herself sprawling on the mold-encrusted leaves lining the forest floor, the toe of her boot caught under a renegade root. She cursed to herself as she heaved herself off, dusting the rich, damp forest earth of the front of her smock. She would rejoice the moment they stopped long enough for her to change into the breaches in her pack. After all, the other woman, Djaq, was free of cursed skirts…

As she stood up, she noticed that the last member of the train, apart from her, had stopped to wait for her. Tall & Pale. _What's his name…? Orange. No, Scarlet. Will Scarlet. Funny how someone so monochromatic—dark hair, pale skin—should be surnamed after a vibrant color. Maybe he blushes brightly? _She could tell she was severely embarrassed, because it was only at moments like that when her mind focused on the little ironies of life. It helped distract her.

As the unfortunate girl caught up with him, she ducked her head and muttered something that was supposed to be "thanks." It sounded more like "thngmms."

"Are you all right?" He asked, mild concern displayed in the crease of his eyebrows, on an ordinarily blank face.

Tibban looked up at last. Her lips were pursed. "Fine, thanks. I'm not _that_ weak." She snapped, quickly follower by a wince. She regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. She was grateful for his consideration, but her shame had spoken before her gratitude had had a chance to think. The new girl ducked her head again; letting stray locks of hair hide her face.

He didn't seem to mind her rudeness. She saw him nod from the corner of her eye, speeding up adequately to catch up with the rest of the band of outlaws. She sped up to match, trailing a pace or two behind him, berating herself mentally for her brilliant alliance-making strategy so far: _Genius, girl, genius. One of 'em tries to be _nice,_ and you go and snap his head off for it. Great start…_

At last, the ragged band slowed to a halt. Tibban was craning her neck, stretching around the obstructing forms to catch a glimpse of her future—if perhaps temporary—home.

She didn't see much. They were facing a steep incline, covered in bracken and leaf-litter. To their left was a wall of exposed rock with lichen draping from the top. An ordinary scene. A dead end. Tibban was confused and anxious: she had built up her excitement, expecting a wondrously secret and elaborate hide-out, followed by merry-making and nourishment for her hollow stomach, instead of the threat of continued walking.

Little John reached into a shadowed crevice in the living rock, and gave a tug. Tibban gaped in amazement as the hillside in front of them rose, admitting the group to a hide-out more wondrously secret and elaborate than the young woman could have hoped.

-o-

By the time the sun had bid the terrain below good night, Tibban's romantic idea of the outlaw life had been shaken to the core. Nearly six hours had passed, and not a single baron had they robbed, nor a damsel has they rescued, nor a brave king had they throned. Perhaps it was a little much to expect within the first quarter-day of her outlaw-hood, but when one has run away from everything one has known to lead a dashing live of adventure, one would expect this dashing new life to be a little more… adventurous.

According to Robin, they had spent the last two days delivering their respite to the peasants of the countryside in the form of gold and food. Today had been the band's day to restore their own well-being; hunting parties made, towns visited, supplies bought. In Tibban's grumbled words, "the kind of hogwash I'd meant to leave behind!"

She had volunteered to cook supper, much to her new-found comrades' delight. As she passed out servings of fresh bred made from flour bought that very mourning, she caught a whispered comment from Allan to Little John: "… knew I liked that girl from the start! _Fresh bred,_ mate…"

She was surprised at the unusually warm welcome her food received; although she was a decent cook (a necessity as the daughter of a baker), she was no royal chef, and every single one of her older sisters easily outshone her. She got the full story, or some form of it, from Djaq: as she couldn't cook herself, the group relied on Much's creations, and the little manservant's culinary talent was… limited.

Tibban twisted in the collection of used blankets provided to her as a temporary bed. The fire still crackled cheerily, as there were still a few people surrounding it to keep it fed. She had excused herself when she noticed Much and John retiring for the night, as she had slept so badly the night before. Now, however, that she was safely bedded down, she was, naturally, unable to even close her eyes. Now that she had considered it, it was probably only a product of hours of wandering and the wearing stress of her escape that had permitted her to sleep the previous night, in unfamiliar circumstances, in a tree. She tuned in to the casual, laughing conversation over by the fire to distract her. It was easier now to loose herself to sleep with the jovial, relaxed sounds of conversation behind her.

-o-

When she reclaimed the power of thought the next morning, she could already feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. It must have been hours past dawn. Any moment now, her mother would come marching in brandishing a rolling pin, spouting threats they both knew she didn't mean, and probably throwing in subtle hints about marriage for the sake of it. And for some reason, Tibban couldn't make herself care. She was happy to languish in the sun and the rough blankets given to her by the gang—wait, gang? Suddenly it all came back to her; where she was, who she was with, what she had done. Her eyes shot open and she sat bolt upright, staring blankly ahead. Some distant part of her brain recognized Will giving her a concerned, inquisitive glance as he passed through. This little fact didn't make it to her conscience. Her brain was reeling with the implied affects of her actions, affects that she hadn't considered while lost in her fanciful, living daydreams.

She might never speak to her parents again. Her brothers, her sisters (although she didn't care all that much about the latter), even the scrawny tortoise-shell cat that had taken residence in their shed. She might see them every day, but she would hardly be able to speak to them, to tell them she was alright, alive, happy. Well, she wasn't sure if the last would prove to be true, but whether false or not, if she got a chance to speak to her parents, she would tell them she was. To keep them content. She lost herself in an imagined conversation with her parents, her over-active imagination producing both their responses and her own.

_"Hello mother." Calm, mature._

"_Tibban? Oh, Tibban, my dear child! Where have you been?!" Frantic, weepy._

_A calm smile. "I heard what you said, mother. About what a burden I was. I knew you would never force me, but as you said, you couldn't afford to house me. So I took matters into my own hands."_

_Horror-struck. "My dear! You— I mean— We never meant for you to leave! We never wanted--" The words were cut off as the short, older woman threw her arms around her grown daughter. "Where have you been?"  
_

The real Tibban knew the seen to be false; her mother's worry and sadness significantly over-played, her own calm, stoic demeanor completely unrealistic, but she was to wrapped up in her own imagined drama to care.

"_I understand, mother. I never begrudged you. This was for the best. As for wh—"_

The fantasy was cut short by a clatter and a cry from outside. Tibban was unfortunately snapped back to reality with a vengeance, and leaped to her feet. She stumbled outside, rebraiding her ragged hair, searching for an explanation for the calamity. The scene before her included:

Djaq, doubled over and panting, having sprinted through the forest to arrive moments before.

Robin, waiting patiently for her to recover her breath enough to deliver her urgent news,

Allan, watching with curiosity, frozen in mid-stroke of a whetstone on the edge of his knife.

As Djaq recovered enough to speak, a grin spear across her face, widening with every puff. Slowly, she stood up. "A cart just entered the forest on the North Road. Well built, official. Trying to pass it off as a farmer, but the driver has the sheriff's seal on his dagger. It's a tax wagon, ripe for the picking."

Suddenly there was a smile identical to Djaq's on Robin's mouth. He spotted Tibban by the camp entrance, and spoke: "Well, Tibban, it looks like you are about to witness your first Robin-Hood style ambush. Allan, Djaq, grab your things, and tell the others where we're going. We need to act fast."

A/N: 'Ello-'ello. So sorry this took so long. I've been on vacation, then as soon as I got back, I had a dream involving the Percy Jackson series, and started reading those Fanfics, and ended up losing my muse. But I'm back! Yay. And this story will now have a plot! Double yay. Let's see how long the next one takes. And thanks to Andie14 for the review and the cooking idea, although it's kind of taken out of context. Merci, mon amie.


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